


The Other Woman

by Rottingbabe



Series: Stories Inspired by My Playlist [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Based on a song, Cheating, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rottingbabe/pseuds/Rottingbabe
Summary: “The other woman, is perfect where her rival fails”-The Other Woman, performed by Nina Simone and written by Jessie Mae Robinson
Relationships: Emma Frost/Scott Summers, Jean Grey/Scott Summers
Series: Stories Inspired by My Playlist [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583143
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Other Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this is supposed to be set in the 60s-ish. Excuse me for mistakes I wrote this in like a couple of hours while procrastinating 😔

Jean looked at here pruny fingers. She had just finished cleaning the bathrooms, and was now scrubbing her hands clean. Her hands were slimmer and paler than usual, her wedding ring could easily move up and down her ring finger now, causing it to slip off every now and then. A few of her fingernails were broken or chipped, and besides a few specks here and there, her signature red nail polish was gone. She desperate needed a manicure, and a nice bottle of lotion. She shivered, imagining Scott kissing his lover’s soft, freshly manicured hands. She thought about how his lover’s trimmed, clean nails, with fresh coats of nail polish, would dig into Scott’s back as they made love, leaving marks that he would later struggle to explain the next day. His lover probably had all the time in the world to get them done. To tend to herself. To enjoy her hobbies. There isn’t enough time for pampering when you’re raising three young children mostly on your own. A brief minute to rest her eyes without having to see who was destroying the living room, or which child wanted to know why the sky was blue was a luxury now, especially with Scott working so much “overtime” lately and not being there to keep an eye on the children. He loved their children, and he was so good with them. She didn’t want their children to suffer because of his affair. If anything, just wanted him to take some time to be with the children. He was hurting them more by being absent. 

Jean wasn’t perfect, she knew that whoever Scott’s lover was had everything she didn’t, something to offer Scott that Jean simply couldn’t. Was it time? Attention? Affection? She thought about how his lover looked. A blonde she knew for sure. She knew from the countless times she confronted Scott over the pale yellow hairs she found on his jacket or shirt. A blonde bombshell possibly? She probably looked like Marylin Monroe or Jean Harlow. With the full shape, and voluminous blonde hair that was never seen in pin curls. And the perfect eyebrows, plump lips, and the sex appeal to match. Jean gasped, was she the Jackie to President Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe (the affair was only a rumor, but Jean thought otherwise). Her blood began to boil thinking about Scott’s infidelity. Well, she didn’t know if he was cheating for sure, but there was just too much evidence to not think anything of it. She’d be a fool not think anything of the scratch marks on his back, or the smell of faint, high-end perfume and lipstick residue on his cheek and other places. Her eyes kept drifting back to her wedding ring. This ring didn’t stand for love she said to herself, it stood for pain and displeasure. It felt like it was burning her ring finger and she wanted nothing more than to get it far away from her. She checked on her napping children before making herself a drink. Well, something like that. She walked over to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the first bottle she saw.

Whiskey.

It wasn’t her favorite, but desperate times like this called for the pleasant burning sensation of alcohol. Something to just distract your uneasy mind, even for a short period of time. After a few sips and a cigarette, she walked on her front porch and stood there for a minute. Letting the cold harsh wind move her hair and the loose fabric of her dress, and dry her skin and lips. The cul-de-sac was eerily empty. All the cars were gone, and there were no children in the front yard playing, or wives tending to their gardens, or dogs barking. The milkman and mail carrier were also oddly late. It was so, strange. Jean took another sip of her whiskey and laughed. Maybe everyone else was getting fucked over too. She looked at her wedding ring one last time, taking in how nice the ring was for a final time. The large center diamond glimmered from the faint sunlight. It was a beautiful ring that stood for something ugly. What was this ring a symbol of? Love or lying and deceit? Faithfulness or infidelity? It felt so, _wrong_ to have it on. She snatched off her wedding ring and held it tightly in her hand, thinking about how to get rid of it. Sell it? Stomp on it? Flush it down the drain? She moved it around between her fingers some more before deciding to throw it as far as she could. She heard it land somewhere in the grass on the other side of the white picket fence, wishing it would’ve went further or rolled down a storm drain, or just simply vanished. She never wanted to see that damned ring again.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Twitter now! My @ is insidesrotten and I’ll be posting sneak peaks, mini stories, and visuals there!


End file.
